Grievances
by Youko-Kokuryuuha
Summary: They say that when you die, your life flashes before your eyes. As he falls through the Veil, the memories of a life badly lived pass Sirius by. A series of snippets.
1. Childhood Innocence

Disclaimer: I don't own any part of the Harry Potter franchise, no matter how awesome or kickass that'd be. The blasphemous truth has been said.

A/N: This fic came to me—or more so pounced on and tore my head off—after reading DeepDownSlytherin's _A Keen Observer_ (fantastic piece of fiction, by the way, should be canon). It was originally meant to be a full-length story, but I don't have the time or inspiration to finish it anymore. Still, I love what I've already written, and I thought it'd be a waste if I never posted it.

So here it is, _Grievances_, in all its fragmented glory. In snippets.

* * *

"_These are the times that try men's souls._"  
—Thomas Paine.

* * *

It happened so quickly.

I was laughing, laughing and joking with her. I was alive for the first time in months, alive and something more than a specter haunting that damned old house that I never really liked.

"Come on, you can do better!" I taunted. What a stupid thing to say.

I hadn't meant to goad her—well, no, I had. But I hadn't expected to die.

The sounds of battle fade away into the background, dull to my ears. I'm falling, slowly and painfully, and manage to catch another look at the glee and excitement on her laughing face.

But it's a lie.

I don't know why it's there; I don't even know if I'm really seeing it at all. But there's something there on Bellatrix's face as she laughs, as she taunts and gibes. There's regret, remorse, almost as if she were sorry for killing her "itty bitty cousin."

A part of me knows it's absurd to think that, because the woman shrieking elatedly above me is a far cry from who she used to be. But I remember. I remember a time when she was innocent, when she was kinder and a bit more compassionate, when the world was a simpler place. I remember a time when Bellatrix Lestrange was simply Bella.

There's an acrid taste in my mouth as I think it, as I feel something like a cobweb-strewn reel clicking into motion and replaying the images, the years, in my mind. It's stupidly cliché to think, but it's bluntly true.

My life flashes before my eyes.

* * *

**Grievances**

_

* * *

_

_Chapter 1: Childhood Innocence_

* * *

I can recall with great ease the earliest years of my life. Each memory seems so raw, so vivid and real, as if it had only happened moments ago. I remember my youth as the most glorious time of my life; it was free from the pressures and ethics of the outside world, and lacked the complexities of love and loyalty. I was simply a child, and that was how I liked it best.

In those days, ignorance really was bliss.

I don't remember much before Reg came into the world; in fact, I can't even think of a time when it wasn't always the two of us. When we marched around the house, determined to stir mischief and relieve the gloom that our parents were so intent on having, he was always there: my loyal companion, my faithful sidekick. Despite what would become of us, it would always hold true that he was my brother and that I loved him.

"Reg, you're an idiot."

Really, I did.

"Sirius, not that again."

"Kidding, Reg, only kidding."

We were alone in the drawing room of Grimmauld Place, lying listlessly on the floor. Both Mother and Father were away, most likely pursuing their freedom from a house occupied by their nauseating and insufferable sons. I can only imagine that their pretense of "visiting relatives" was a guise to do so. At any rate, neither Reg nor I cared. It wasn't as if it was something new—they did it all the time—and we were perfectly happy to be left to our own devices. We liked it better that way.

I heard him yawn in boredom and raised an eyebrow. "Bored, Reg?"

His eyes roved about momentarily in his head as they gazed about the room. Father's bookcase, erected against the far wall and polished so that the dark red wood shined, painted a pretty picture lined with all of its thick tomes and books.

The curtains were drawn over the window so that the room was plunged into semi-darkness, and the emerald carpet beneath us was swept impossibly clean (the house-elves' work, of course). A low fire crackled in the grate beneath a portrait of a man who I supposed was a distant ancestor—I didn't particularly care. His condescending gaze and sharp nose instantly inspired dislike in me by the time I was old enough to feel it.

"Obviously enough." Reg's comment shook me out of my reverie. "We've just been lying on the floor for _hours!_"

"It's only been twenty minutes."

"Whatever, it's the same thing, really."

I chuckled. "Leave it to a six year-old to have a seriously messed up sense of time."

He sat up, sweeping his dark hair out of his eyes, and I was able to fully appreciate what our parents' friends meant when they said we looked alike; the resemblance was striking. Had his hair been a bit longer like mine, had his chin been more pointed and less round, you could have easily confused us for identical twins with the unique trait of having one being taller and somewhat older looking than the other (not to mention much more handsome).

"Well, anyway," I said, "we could always do something a bit more fun." When I waggled my eyebrows and flashed him a mischievous grin, Reg stuck out his lower lip and threw me a suspicious look.

"I don't like where this is going," he whined. "Last time we did something stupid, Mother nearly found out _we_ were the ones who broke the porcelain plates and not the house-elves. And besides, I don't want them to get into anymore trouble because of us."

I waved away his concerns impatiently. "Last time was different. Trying to glide along the dining room table was a lame idea anyway. We can do better."

"And we won't get caught?"

"Have we ever?"

"Well..."

"_Not_ counting the time we stole Father's wand and bewitched the goblets to dance."

"No..."

"Then what've we got to lose?"

"Only a few limbs," he sighed, but I knew from his halfhearted shrug that he was conceding defeat. I grinned.

-

"That was honestly one of your stupider ideas."

I winced in pain as Andy pulled a shard of glass from the back of my head. Reg's sharp gasp of pain from behind told me that Cissy was doing the same.

I suppose I should have been thankful that our cousins had stopped by to check in on us—no doubt on our aunt and uncle's urging—and yet I couldn't find it in myself to be grateful. They had ruined our boyish fun with their arrival, stolen our air of bold independence. Still, I'll admit that I much preferred them finding us bleeding to death on the carpet than Mother—she would have been terribly peeved that we'd gotten it dirty.

Andy yanked another shard from my skull none-too-gently and muttered something irritably under her breath. "I don't understand the leeway Auntie and Uncle give you," she said, voicing her opinions. "Sirius will always manage to outdo himself in the end."

"It was my idea," Reg muttered. Cissy smiled knowingly and patted his head as she fished out the last of the glass fragments.

"Of course it was, Reg," she sympathized, indulging him. "We all know it was really you. Sirius won't get into any trouble. Neither of you will."

He seemed to buy this, because he sighed and relaxed enormously. "Thanks."

I felt hands comb through my hair for the last few remnants before leaving my head. "Parachuting from the banister and onto the cupboard? Really, Sirius?" Andy tried and failed spectacularly to hide her laughter.

"Boys will be boys."

I looked at Bella, who was reclined languidly on the long couch before us and taking in our suffering with good humor. She flipped her dark hair out of her face and shifted her gaze to Andy.

"Someone'll have to tell the house-elves to keep quiet about it, or they'll tell Aunt Walburga without any regard for Sirius and Reg's well-being—especially Kreacher." She twirled a finger in her hair as the fire played shadows on her face. "You do it, Cissy. He admires you, but I think he's a bit afraid, too."

I scoffed. "Of Cissy? Not that she can't be perfectly terrifying when she wants to be," I hastily remedied, turning an apologetic gaze to her to communicate that I'd meant no offense, "but she isn't exactly the terror-inducing type."

"_Please_," Bella drawled. "She's mastered our mother's glare to an art form. Show Kreacher your magic, Cissy?"

With a small smile, she nodded and rose, leaving the four of us in the drawing room as she dished out her cold fury.

It was Reg who left next, muttering some lame excuse about cleaning the doxies out of his room before Mother returned. Andy and Bella exchanged knowing glances, seeming to understand that he'd escaped to marvel in Cissy's prowess. With a soft chuckle and a roll of her eyes, Andy swept from the room and followed.

There was only Bella and I, then. She beckoned me closer to her side, and, hesitantly, I crawled over. She reached down and cupped my cheek in her hand as she studied my face, and I couldn't shake the odd feeling that she was examining more than my features.

"You're impetuous," she said, finally, withdrawing her hand. When it became obvious from my expression that I didn't understand the word (I was eight, after all), she added, "You're reckless and don't think things through before you do them. You just jump into one mess without really considering how you're going to get out." She ruffled my hair affectionately. "You and I are a lot alike."

I tried to look as aloof and unconcerned as I could.

I think she still noticed that I was beaming.

In my younger years, it was Bella, not Andy, who had been my favorite cousin. At sixteen, she was rash, passionate, impulsive, and bold—nearly everything I aspired to be. Being likened to my dearest cousin, to Bellatrix Black, was nearly an honor.

To say that I didn't adore Bella would be nothing short of a lie. She was nearly the mother Reg and I never had. She was the one who would carry us to sleep when we passed out from fatigue, who would read to us fantastic fairytales of bold wizards and dragons and power, who would carefully tuck us to sleep. Often, she'd tell us that the world was our vineyard and we had our pick of the juiciest.

That's not to say that I didn't love Andromeda and Narcissa—I did, as only a cousin could. The five of us were always together, rogues from our parents and their strict rules and silly guidelines. But at the time, Bella meant so much more to me. Of course, I noticed that as she got older she became a bit more distant and reclusive, but I dismissed it as the normal signs of teenager brooding. I would eventually grow to think that the same would happen to Andy and Cissy. I would've never guessed that she would have become what she did.

"Well, I think it's about time we left, but we might as well pry the house-elves from Cissy's claws first," Bella yawned, rising from her perch. She jerked her head to ask whether or not I would come, and I scrambled to my feet in reply.

As we left the dim room and crackling fire behind, she muttered a passing comment.

"The last thing I want is for Aunt Walburga to raise her wand against us."

I couldn't help but agree.

-

The summer after, Bella turned seventeen.

It was a festive gala, nothing short of lavish and grand, for Aunt Druella and Uncle Cygnus had wanted to send their eldest daughter off into the world with relish. I don't think it was a show of their affection, but more a show of their wealth.

They had decided that it would be held at one of their infrequently used villas, and had made sure that the grandeur of the place was imposing to even the wealthiest of purebloods—they had no intention of being outshone.

The house-elves had charmed the chandeliers to glimmer to an almost obscene degree, and had swept the place clean of dust. The polished, dark wooden floors gleamed underfoot, their beauty only intensified by the cluster of bejeweled woman and dark-robed men standing on top of them: Rosiers, Wilkes, Averys, Lestranges, Bulstrodes, Malfoys, Mulcibers, Notts—if you hadn't been invited, it was assumed that you were either being snubbed for a particularly nasty scandal or had turned into a blood-traitor.

None of this seemed to matter to Bella. As Reg and I marveled at all the guests from the balcony overlooking the entire affair (we were still young, and because of that had never _been_ to a party at all), she simply released an irritated sigh and plopped down on the bed.

"Don't do that, Bella," Cissy warned. "You'll ruffle your dress robes."

Bella pulled a teasing face and swept from the bed to motion in front of the mirror.

She had always been attractive—that was practically expected of Blacks—but tonight she was stunningly beautiful. Her dark hair was piled high on top of her head, resembling an elaborate crown of black silk; any wayward curls spilled down the sides of her face. Her dress, colored in rich hues of dark blue and ending in a bell-shaped gown, was pulled tightly against her body by a black-striped corset. Blue gemstones sparkled from her ears.

"How do I look?"

It was a silly question, because the answer could have only been "lovely." I saw Reg struggle with this on his face before he spouted, "Like a girl in a very uncomfortable set of dress robes."

Bella snorted and wriggled an arm in one of the wide sleeves. "That sounds about right."

"I think you look gorgeous," Cissy sighed dreamily. "Tonight will be all about you, Bella, and no one else. You'll get all the attention—and there are quite a lot of respectable men here tonight. Isn't it exciting?"

"Hardly," Bella grimaced. "I have no intention of getting married right out of school. The last thing I want is to be tied down young."

"What about Rodolphus?" Andy asked. I saw the small smile that crept slowly onto Bella's lips.

"That's...different. He isn't going to drag me off to his dungeon and force me to do it. We have plans, a few things we want to do."

"Like what?" It was an innocuous question that I couldn't resist asking.

Bella raised an eyebrow at me, and I could see in her eyes that she was contemplating whether to tell me or not. Finally, she shrugged.

"_My_, everyone's suddenly nosy and suspicious about my love life. Is this what turning seventeen is all about?"

"What, you didn't know?" Andy's voice was filled with feigned surprise. "You're of age now, so your first priority is to produce seven sons to carry on your lineage."

Bella waved a hand theatrically and pretended to swoon, to which Andy and Cissy broke out into snickers. "I suppose Rodolphus and I should get started _right_ away!"

Of course, all of the joking went over my head, because I wasn't nearly old enough to understand where babies came from, excluding the one story Andy told me which explained that wood nymphs delivered them to doorsteps. I'd find out much later from knowledgeable friends who knew just a bit more than they should have—you would've thought they were experts themselves.

When their fits of laughter died down, they disentangled themselves from each other, a pile of glossy hair and expensive dresses, and made to go: Cissy smoothed out her plait of blonde hair as Andy brushed the dust from her own green dress. As the two of them exited, Bella cast us a not-entirely-believable-but-certainly-meant-to-intimidate glare.

"_Don't_ break anything while we're gone."

"What?" Reg looked at me as if he hadn't a clue in the world. "What ever is she talking about, Sirius?"

"I haven't the faintest idea, dear boy."

She fought down a laugh. "I mean it."

"Okay, okay, we get it: don't tear the place apart." I waved her away with an air of feigned annoyance.

"Alright," Bella said, "I can see where I'm not wanted."

As she walked off, it suddenly struck me that she was leaving, departing forever from the safety of childhood and innocence and irresponsibility. Most importantly of all, she was leaving _us_.

"Bella?" She turned back at my whisper. "I'm glad for you...it's fantastic...I know growing up is really important..." She furrowed her brow at my struggled attempts to spit out my thoughts. "Look, just... don't ever change, okay?"

Understanding flitted across Bella's grey eyes, and a smile curved onto her lips. She leaned down to kiss my forehead and hug Reg tightly. It was her reassurance, her silent promise that nothing would ever come between us. But she was seventeen, already had six years of magic under her belt. It's foolish to think that she hadn't already met the man who would call himself Lord Voldemort, had not already taken up his cause and became his faithful and loyal servant.

And yet...even after she left, as Reg and I watched from the balcony as she took Rodolphus's hand and shared with him a look of dark passion, as she talked and danced and laughed through the night, her response was still ringing in my ears:

"I won't."


	2. Love, Andy

A/N: So…this took forever. But school has been eating my soul. That's enough of an excuse, I think. Enjoy!

* * *

"_We wear the mask that grins and lies._"  
— Paul Laurence Dunbar.

* * *

I remember distinctly the day Andy left us. The day the world broke apart and anger and tears and darkness spilled out suddenly and violently from the gap that'd been torn open in our world—in our family. The day love and passion and duty and honor clashed, as I stood by in my own mixture of confusion, staring into the dark water and seeing its murky surface without being able to understand the roiling darkness in its depths...

Yes. I remember.

It'd been a warm summer evening.

* * *

**Grievances**

_

* * *

_

Chapter 2: Love, Andy

* * *

The end of the term immediately signaled the beginning of summertime.

Mother and Father were absent from the train station, so I assumed they'd escaped to another one of their social gatherings to fraternize with the pureblood world and prolong their freedom from their insufferable sons; they apparently intended to show up on the day of Andy's ball. From the train, Aunt Druella had taken Andy, Cissy, and me to her and Uncle Cygnus's summer abode. Reg followed soon after.

It was a nice place, far from deprived of the grandeur and resplendence that the Blacks were so accustomed to, and yet it was nothing at all like Grimmauld Place; there was no depressing air. I attributed this to the white and beige walls of the palace—for I thought of it as such.

Luxurious chandeliers hung from the ceiling, illuminating even the darkest of corners with a yellowish glow. The stairs were lined with ebony wood and adorned with carvings of snakes and other typical emblems of Slytherin.

It was on the landing attached to one of these stairs that I crouched as I listened to another one of Uncle's ravings. I heard only a few faint murmurs, so I edged closer to better catch his words.

"...last time I'll speak of it. You're of age, Andromeda."

The chandeliers were unlit, probably a sign of his preferences to the dark, brooding atmosphere of his own home. I squinted through the gloom to make out the brown curls of Andy's hair as Uncle paced back and forth before her. I knew instantly from his mentioning of ages what he wanted to discuss.

"I don't understand why you find the need to be so disagreeable," he went on. "You've finished your education, and there are no other pursuits for you." He sighed a deep, calming sigh to still himself. "Rabastan Lestrange is a fine young man—and you know him. He is Rodolphus's brother, blood of your sister's fiancé. He's nearly family already."

"I know, Father," I heard Andy say, "but I don't—"

"He's of noble stock, well-respected, and his family, above all else, understands the importance of blood purity. What more could you want, child?"

I hated hearing him speak about marriage like that. He made it sound like an obligation, something necessary only to stabilize and maintain the connections between pure-blood families and their loyalties. And to him, it was, and that was all it was. He never spoke of—

"_Love_," Andy said. It was a strangled sort of whisper, like it'd escaped her mouth against her will.

Uncle gazed at her, unmoved. His expression betrayed a trace of derision. "Love? What of it?"

"I don't love Rabastan!" Andy gritted. "I _loathe_ him. I detest him and Rodolphus for their cruelty and inhumanity. I wouldn't doubt that he doesn't have a heart, or that if he was lucky enough to have one that if would be as black as—"

He struck her.

I heard the ringing sound of his palm against her cheek and winced. She'd said too much, voiced too many of her private thoughts and opinions—and I knew she was thinking the same.

"You will hold your tongue in your mouth." Uncle's voice was cold now, hard as ice and angry. He wouldn't allow her another word. "You will marry Rabastan Lestrange, maintain the standards of the House of Black, and keep a civil head about you. Is that understood?"

I looked at Andy and saw that her gaze was still trained to the floor. She hadn't moved her head from when Uncle had struck her, and the skin of her pale cheeks was still red. I looked at her eyes and saw the defiance and rebellion that flared there, before they were quickly clouded and muffled over, her face regaining its regal composure. Her words were completely at odds with that look.

"Yes, Father."

-

It wasn't the same as Bella's ball.

Oh, it was festive. Yes, it was that. There were white ribbons and streamers and sparkling crystal and everything a pureblood family could afford—nothing was spared for a daughter of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. And why should it have been?

Andromeda, of age.

Andromeda, beautiful.

Andromeda, finally ready to be married and shipped off to pop out dozens of babies.

It's funny, looking back on it: Bella's Seventeen seemed so much more pleasant, so much more enjoyable. But of course it would, wouldn't it? I was only a child then; I didn't understand what it meant, didn't understand that it was required whether she wanted it or not. All Black children married into pureblood families, and that was that.

I almost couldn't hold back a snort of disgust.

James had been right.

It wasn't a life, what we had. The bright colors and nice things were all prettily painted bars that kept us in this prison we called the privileged life, all deceptively decorated so that we'd never dream of rebellion, of disgracing the family.

But why should we? We had fame, power, looks and fortune—we had everything anyone of a lesser status could ever dream of and _more_. We were what the rest of the world aspired to be, what it longed for; what it begged and cried and pleaded for before it was denied with a cruel, twisted smile. It was just like Mother and Father had always told me: we were the gods to this pedestrian world of commoners.

But when I looked at Andy, looking so empty and broken as she danced with the man she was fated to marry, I didn't feel very godlike. I felt trapped. Destined to marry into a life I wasn't so sure I really wanted.

I almost envied James, I did.

Bella was dancing with Rodophuls, twirling in his arms with a little too much laughter. She caught my eye, waved and smiled, and I couldn't help but smile back.

I'd noticed the little things first: the slight gleam that seemed to light her eyes whenever mudbl—muggle-borns (that would be a hard habit to break) were being discussed. It had always been there, of course, but it seemed to burn brighter, stronger than before. And then there were the long absences. The endless moments where she and Rodophlus would disappear without a word of correspondence for months on end. None of the adults seemed to be worried.

"The marriage preparations," Uncle would say.

"When you're older you'll understand," Cissy would tell me, and pat me on the head.

"I would hope I haven't raised you to be an intrusive brat."

Ah, Mother. What an endearing woman.

They all told me it was normal, nothing to be worried over—but I couldn't help the suspicions that nestled themselves deep into my soul, the niggling worries that pounded away with the blood in my veins. The absences. The long nights. The heavy smell of sweat and perhaps blood and Dark Magic and those eyes that weren't Bella's, _weren't Bella's_—

I felt my legs slip into the slow, easy lope that the girls at Hogwarts had always fawned for (because a bit of it was for show, yes, because I _did_ feel fairly important with all the girls swooning for me; but it was really the years of hard beatings and etiquette taking root). Here and there, heads turned, words were muttered—but I didn't care. The eyes of the world could be on me, but it wouldn't change what I had to know.

Rodophlus saw me coming from over Bella's shoulder and offered me a wry smile. "Come to dance, little man?" he teased.

Bella snorted on her revolution. "That 'little man' is going to be the head of this family some day, and don't you forget it."

Something flashed across Rodophulus's eyes—it was brief, a fleeting shadow, and then it was gone.

He smiled that deceptive smile of his. "Of course. How could I ever forget that?"

A part of me wondered if what I'd seen had been resentment. But then I realized I didn't care. Somewhere during those months at Hogwarts—during those late night conversations with James and Remus and Peter—I realized that I hated people like Rodophlus. Hated people who were overly smug, who thought that they were so much better than muggle-borns.

Lily would have given him an earful.

And then Marlene would have cursed his ears off.

But if Bella loved him…well, I supposed I could tolerate him.

I smiled pleasantly as I stepped forward. "Do you mind if I cut in?"

"Of course not," Bella answered for him. She let go of Rodophlus's hand and waved him away. "You'll have me all to yourself later, I promise," she murmured. They shared a private smile that I didn't entirely understand.

"Are you _ever_ going to be married?" I asked, as Rodophlus's back faded into the crowd. I saw him stop at the punch bowl and pour himself a drink from the cool, red liquid spouting from the crystal phoenix's beak.

Bella rolled her eyes. "Not that it's any of your business, but yes, I will." She waited a beat as I spun her outward and pulled her back to me. "Why do you ask?"

"Wondering, is all," I muttered. Bella stared at the side of my face as I struggled to find somewhere else to look until the song finished. Just until the song finished. Just until—

"Your fibbing skills have gotten deplorable."

I smiled wryly. "Was it that obvious?"

"Very."

Bella caught my chin with her hand. "You know you can tell me anything, don't you? Anything at all and I'll never judge you. You can always trust me."

_Always? _The unsure thought tickled the back of my mind. How could I always trust her when I hardly trusted myself? When I closed my eyes I saw myself at the Mirror of Erised again, eyes black and empty and hands stained with something dark and red. And there was Bella again, standing behind me with a blood-caked hand.

I didn't want that. I know I didn't. And yet…

Something in me did, some unbidden darkness. Something kept that little picture close to my heart, with blood and darkness and Bella's proud smile lighting her face—

But it was the same smile she'd given me three years ago. The soft smile that had sealed our sacred promise. She was the same dear Bella who'd sneak into my room at night and tickle me ruthlessly until Mother and Father demand that I stop with my unbecoming squealing. Even before, with that entire Gryffindor affair, Bella had stood by me—cautiously, maybe, but she had. She'd held my hand in hers and squeezed it until the blood stood still in my veins and breathed, "Still Sirius, still Sirius, still Sirius," just a little to reassure herself that the House didn't matter. That we were blood. That we were one of a kind.

Yes, she was still the same.

"Ah, you know," I said nonchalantly, smiling against the wild paranoia that stretched my face taut. "It's been—what, three years? You'll be an old maid before you know it."

Bella swatted my arm playfully. "Shut it, you little monster."

I smiled in spite of myself. "And just what are you and Rodophlus up to, traveling all the time? And don't tell me 'when I'm older,' because I've heard it enough and it's bloody annoying."

She chewed on her lip as we glided along the floor for a moment longer. "Sirius"—her eyes took on an oddly somber and serious look—"what Rodophlus and I do…is between the two of us. I'm not belittling you," she added hurriedly, when I scowled. "But you have to understand—it's important, what we're doing. It'll change the world for the better, make it perfect—but the world isn't ready to know about it just yet. And until it is, neither are you."

Something dark, that darkness that I recognized, that felt akin to my own, lingered behind her eyes, traced the lips of her wide smile as she lost herself in that perfect, fantasy world. She made it sound so beautiful, so heartbreaking. I wanted to be a part of it more than anything.

I licked my lips. "Bella—"

She jerked her left hand out of my grasp.

It stung, oddly, the way she pulled away from me so quickly and readily. Reason told me that I was looking into it too deeply, that it was something else entirely. But I couldn't help but stare at my hand, at the skin of my palm that flushed with the burning sting of our ungracefully broken bond.

"B-Bella?" My voice sounded small.

Maybe that was why she didn't hear me, didn't respond; because I could see in her face that she'd fallen deeper into her perfect world. She stroked the dress robe sleeve just over her forearm, as if it were something precious, and then looked to Rodophlus with a new burning, frantic light in her eyes. And he had the same look, the same air about him. Maybe that was what kept them together: their wild, burning darkness.

She didn't say another word to me, only pecked me on the forehead and walked off across the floor. And there was Rabastan, trailing behind his brother with manic, feverish eyes, scratching at his arm with new life and vigor.

Bella was whispering something in Mother's ear, was giving Andy a hurried wave and a disarming smile, and then she, Rodophlus, and Rabastan swept away, dark and lovely angels on the ballroom floor, leaving Andy lingering among the women of harsh perfume and loud, obnoxious laughter.

I teetered there on the floor, trying to decide whether to follow them; whether I wanted to follow Bella wherever she would go, even if it was down, down, down into the shady groves. Would I follow her down there, down into the darkness?

Probably.

But then Mother and Father would curse me for leaving so unceremoniously.

My feet took me along the floor and I followed, letting them take me while my mind wandered. I could suddenly smell verbena, could smell a white scented glove…

Andy brought her cup of wine to her lips.

The melancholy was all over her face, spilled there like some elixir of sorrow and dread. She looked like a porcelain doll; a brittle, pretty face with an empty inside. I had to say something to her, something witty and charming to lighten the bleakness I knew we both felt in the very depths of our souls.

"Nice party, eh?"

Andy turned her head to me slowly, as if she'd only just noticed I was there. "What? Oh, yes. Lovely party. Simply darling."

The smile didn't reach her eyes.

"Simply darling?" I tried again, joking. "Since when do you say 'simply darling'?"

She didn't answer. I had a feeling she couldn't hear me over the din of the party, over the laughing voices and the clattering feet. No. She'd sip her wine until she could lose herself in it, until the dark red liquid swallowed her whole—until she drowned.

I poured my own cup and joined her.

-

I couldn't sleep that night. I was troubled by what I'd seen and overheard, troubled by the rift that was slowly and surely growing in our family. I can't say that I was thrilled with the maniacal mother and uncaring father I'd been bestowed with, but I loved my cousins. The thought of them drifting away from me, of leaving Reg and me alone in this tiny, sheltered world…It was terrifying.

I flung the covers off of me and threw my legs over the bed. I was never good with dealing with restlessness, so I crept onto the landing spread before my room and quietly descended the stairs. I stopped when I heard the sudden rustling of robes and saw a cloaked figure at the door.

Andy.

I let out a sigh of relief that I wasn't aware I was holding. As soon as she heard it, Andy turned in alarm, only to smile when she recognized it was me. I took in her tightly drawn traveling cloak and the shrunken suitcase on her arm as she beckoned me closer.

"You're leaving," I croaked. It wasn't a question, I knew. It couldn't have been plainer by her attire.

"Sirius..." She stopped short, trying to choose her words more carefully. "Listen—"

"Are you running away with Ted?" It was a hurried, breathless whisper, because I was excited without really knowing why. She nodded and I smiled. "That's great, Andy. Really great."

To say the very least, I was happy for her. Andy, who'd always seemed the quiet, unresisting conformist, was doing the daring, the bold, the brave—by breaking her own heart and running away.

She pulled me into a hug and ran her fingers through my hair affectionately. "Oh, Sirius," she murmured, "you're the best." She released me to look me up and down. "Don't break too many hearts when you're older, alright?"

"Only if you write to me."

The demand sounded childish, needy. But that was only because it was.

"Every day," Andy promised, and then, hesitantly, "Will you tell Bella and Cissy that I love them?"

My voice cracked out the response. "'Course."

Andy hugged me tightly again, as if for good measure, before seizing her belongings and tightening her cloak.

She threw me one last wistful look, grabbed the brass handle, and before the door closed, she was gone.

-

It goes without saying what happened the next morning. I woke to a raving and fuming uncle and a pale, tremulous aunt. They didn't say a word about it, didn't even mention her name. Aunt Druella simply strolled over to the tapestry tight-lipped, singed Andy's name from the tree, and then walked back to the parlor. The house-elves supplied her and Uncle with an ungodly amount of wine that day.

Reg seemed to take their cue, because he didn't mention it either, didn't dare breathe her name. Andy was a blood-traitor, a runaway; she wasn't worthy of having the name Black. She was to be cast out and forgotten.

I saw him sulking in a corner of the upper balcony sniffling loudly and wiping his nose on his sleeve. I don't think he noticed.

I'd found the gloom and somber air stifling because of the silence of the house, so I tried to escape to the dusty attic. I was surprised—and slightly disappointed—to find Cissy there first.

I hadn't seen her at all that morning. She'd kept from Auntie and Uncle, from Reg and me, and had withdrawn to a place of solitude—for what, I didn't know. She was sitting on one of the dusty crates of family heirlooms, facing a window that was quietly being assaulted by rain. She was still in her white nightgown, and her hair was messy and unkempt. I approached her warily.

"Cissy?"

She turned quickly and threw me a distasteful look, as if I'd violated her privacy and stolen her moment of peace.

"What, Sirius?" she snapped.

"Well, nothing, it's just..." I faltered. Her eyes were slightly red; there were dry tear-trails marking her cheeks. I swallowed.

"She loved you, you know."

That earned a shrill of cynical laughter.

"Loved me, Sirius?" Cissy said derisively. "What would Andy know about love? She turned her back on her entire family and walked out, not a regret or a word."

"Cissy, that's not true—"

"To hell if it isn't! And what would you know?" I watched as Cissy stood and ran a hand through her unkempt hair, as though raking through it feverishly would relieve her frustrations. "I was her sister, and I never saw it coming. If she loved us, if she ever gave a damn—"

"She did," I insisted sharply. "You know that saying she didn't care for you and Bella, or for Reg and me, would be a lie. And she doesn't deserve that."

Merlin only knows where Bella was or what she was doing that night. I imagine that she caught wind swiftly enough, though, and vented her tensions on some poor and undeserving muggle.

"_Then tell me why she left!_"

Cissy's scream brought me back to the present sharply. Her eyes were wild as tears flowed freely from them again, and she was glaring at me, boring into my eyes with her own as though her answer was there. "How could she, Sirius? How could she just leave us?"

I ran through responses in my mind, but there wasn't one I could give without slipping that I knew more that I let on. So I told her the only thing I could.

"I don't know."

And then she broke down into muffled sobs.

I felt wrong, then, like I was intruding on something naked, bare, and vulnerable. I could count the times on one hand that Cissy had ever lost her composure, and none of them had occurred in the past three years.

I patted her awkwardly on the back. It went on like that for a few minutes, with me attempting to comfort and soothe her, and her uttering strangled chokes and heaving violently. I was still sitting beside her on the dusty floor, my hand stroking her golden hairs gently and her head still buried in her arms, when the crying stopped. We lingered briefly in the silence for a moment, a long stretch of time that seemed to take days and years to end. And then, finally, I heard her ask me softly,

"Sirius, you won't ever tell anyone about this, will you?"

I thought of the helpless, fragile Cissy that I'd seen, who looked foreign and strange to me in a way I could never properly articulate, and of her heart-felt confessions of agony and betrayal. I thought of Andy and her forbidden love with Ted, of Bella and her growing madness, and of the many dark alignments of our family, and decided that I could stand to bear one more secret.

I shook my head.

"No, Cissy, I won't tell a soul."


	3. My Idiot Little Brother

A/N: A double upload for the long wait. Enjoy!

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"_Rage, rage against the dying of the light._"  
—Dylan Thomas.

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It's funny, what a man thinks on the precipice between engulfing darkness and blinding light. I can't help but think how it's almost as if I've been here my whole life; here, teetering on the edge between Light and Dark, unsure of where to go. Reg had always said I was indecisive like that.

Reg.

Maybe, besides Bella, he was the only person who saw me for who or what I really was: that wild man who would one day, like a candle, flicker before he burned himself out.

But then, I guess, he and Bella and I were all alike in that way. All three of us. We all…we all raced forward into the darkness.

Ah, Reg.

I…I'm so sorry.

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**Grievances**

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_Chapter 3: My Idiot Little Brother_

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We were in Reg's room. I couldn't tell you why I was there—I detested everything about the place, from his hubris of all things Slytherin to the near obsessive _Prophet_ news clippings littering his walls. I was lying on the floor and staring at the ceiling when I heard the crinkling of paper and a wistful sigh from his bed.

I rolled my eyes. "Reg, you're an idiot."

"Oh, shut up, Sirius," he bit out, yet I still saw the shadow of fear of disappointment lingering in his eyes. "You've been saying that more and more since I came to Hogwarts."

"Obviously," I said, "that's when you turned into an idiot." I heard him snort as he turned another page of _The Prophet_.

"Jealous?" His eyes glinted when I didn't respond. "Admit it, Sirius. You're jealous that I fit in where you don't. I'm the Slytherin. I'm the perfect son. I'm the martyr for blood-purity that you could never be. It's true, isn't it? You hate me because I'm everything you've ever wanted to be, and everything you never could.

"And d'you know why? Because you're not a _real_ Black. You don't even deserve the name. I see you at school, following those blood-traitors with your nose to their arses and right into infamy when you aren't even like them; when you can't even hope to be the goodness they think they are. Because let's face it—you and I know the truth: you're barking mad and full of darkness. You're a disgrace. A disappointment. And d'you know what else? You'll _never_ belong."

_They aren't his words, _I told myself. _They're Snape's and Mulciber's and Avery's._ Because they weren't his words. They were the words of pathetic boys who were wistful to fall into the fold, to fall into the darkness I wanted to escape. They weren't his words.

But something was roiling in the back of my throat, running into my mouth like bile and slipping off my tongue until—

"Burn in hell, Reg."

The words were like acid on the air.

He had no right to say that, no right to make a claim he couldn't possibly back—a claim that was entirely true.

I didn't mind so much that I wasn't a Slytherin, that I wasn't mad and crazy about purifying the world of muggle-borns. I didn't give a damn about any of that. I hated Reg for taking my place; for belonging and being accepted where I should have been; for taking all of Mother's love, Father's respect, and Bella's praise; for being right about me, about that inescapable darkness that I knew was harbored somewhere deep down in my soul, the one I wanted more than anything else to drown out.

Yeah. I hated the little bastard for that.

"Touched a chord, have I?" Reg sneered. "Are you mad that I'm better, that I'll go on to bigger and better things?"

"Bigger and better?" I scoffed. "Don't kid yourself, Reg."

"I mean it!" He nearly jumped off the bed in his haste to get to me. I felt his fist clench around the front of my robes as he yanked me to my feet—something I hadn't expected him to be capable of. I met his cold glare with a bored one.

I should have told him then, should have warned him that he was making a mistake he'd regret, but I was too angry, too proud—so I goaded him.

"Please, Reg," I jeered. "You wouldn't survive a day and a half as a Death Eater. D'you know what they do? The vile murders they commit? D'you think you can go to sleep at night hearing your victims' screams bounce around in your skull? Think you can do that, Reg? Because I don't. You don't have the _spine_."

I tasted blood, warm and sticky, when Reg smashed his fist into my mouth.

"You're wrong, Sirius!" he spat. "I'll do what you never could! I'll prove you wrong!" He practically threw me as he pushed me away and stormed out the room.

I knew after that; it was obvious enough. I could tell from Mother's doting on him, from Father's lavish spending, and even from Bella's adoring gaze. That was the day Regulus decided he would take the Dark Mark.

That was the day I lost my little brother.


End file.
